Barbara Kopple’s “The Hamptons” is less reality television than Rorschach test – bringing into stark relief everything you love and hate about the Hamptons.

The no-frills documentary, shot last summer in and around that exclusive playground on Long Island’s East End and airing June 2 and 3 on ABC, stars ditzy socialites and dazzling shorelines, fast-trackers and fishermen, the haves, the have-nots and the have-to-be-theres.

The celebs are there in force, beginning with Alec Baldwin, who kicks things off by rhapsodizing about “how real” the Hamptons are to him.

Amiable exes Billy Joel and Christie Brinkley team up for a benefit concert against pollution; hip-hop’s Russell Simmons, sprawled out on the porch of his mansion by the sea, reminisces about his days in the ‘hood; nubile hotel heiress Nicky Hilton worries about what to wear to her parents’ soiree for “Sex and the City” scribe Candace Bushnell; and Craig Kilborn, Chevy Chase and Alan Cummings have cameos, as do other stars of varying magnitude.

Hamptons chronicler Steve Gaines, who surveys one party, saying, “This is the American dream.” A caterer en route to work the Hiltons’ party: “I wouldn’t say they were fascinating people.”

The result: part documentary, part infomercial (catch those loving shots of Nick & Toni’s oven), part Valentine – and part bore.

“I love the Hamptons,” says Kopple, a Scarsdale native who previously trained her lens on coal miners and meatpackers.

“A lot of people have stereotypes about who the people who go to the Hamptons are, and it’s so key to allow people to surprise you,” she told The Post. “I was just so open to allowing the Hamptons to find me.”

The Hamptons couldn’t have found Kopple at a more revealing time – last summer, when Lizzie Grubman made headlines and beloved Hamptons restaurateur Jeff Salaway (a co-owner of local boite Nick & Toni’s) died after driving into a tree.

Culled from 300 hours of filming, “The Hamptons” might have been just another PBS documentary if it didn’t have scandal, star power and singles.

There are those looking for love are in all the wrong share-houses: Jacqueline Lipson, the wide-lipped matrimonial lawyer bent on nuptials of her own; and Angela Barber, the mousy-haired Oregon transplant who recoils at the sight of six beds to every room.

And, of course, there’s Lizzie, who before that fateful night, tells the camera, “Summer is the hardest part of my life. From today to Labor Day, I work 24-7.”

Next shot: a bouncer at Conscience Point recounting the carnage.

Kopple does not have footage of Lizzie’s July 7 mowing-down-by-Mercedes of 16 people in the nightclub’s parking lot – a good thing, she says, because the film would have been subpoenaed. Instead, she filmed reactions from the weary waitresses, year-rounders and party crowd, whose accounts, by now, have been published in countless news stories.

“The Hamptons” has its poignant moments, too – when it pulls away from the partying long enough to capture the retirement of East Hampton’s longtime Police Chief Lt. Kenneth Brown, and a community meeting at which a woman speaks about the pollution of the bay she used to swim and fish in.

Now and then, we see fishermen, farmers and artists at work, and realize why they’ve been drawn to the far East End of Long Island. In one of the most chilling scenes, painter Julian Schnabel tells us why he feels safe here, even though he’s just had a dream about crashing planes.

The date: Sept. 10.

“The film is a time capsule,” Kopple says, “of the last summer before 9/11, the last summer we felt safe.”